I Give Up On Women
by TheScaryLittleGhostGirl
Summary: John returns from a date after having drank way too much. No slash really, only a small bit of Sherlock/John. One-shot


"I give up on women!" John announced to empty living room of 221b as if there were many people jam-packed inside.

"That's nice John" Sherlock called from the kitchen, bent over his microscope, as acknowledgement that his flatmate had returned from his date, which evidentially had not gone as well as John may have been hoping.

"I'm serious Sherlock." John staggered into the living room looking like a minor character in Shaun of the Dead. Bloodshot eyes, mouth slightly open, clothes messed and rumpled, and almost uncontrollable limbs "I... am giving up women."

"John, how drunk are you?" Sherlock asked, still not looking up.

"I am not _that_ drunk." John said, sounding much more overly defensive than he would usually, as if Sherlock had insulted him somehow "But I hate females."

Rolling his eyes, knowing that he was not likely to get anymore work done with his college being so distracting, Sherlock turned to face him "Is this going to be a coming out speech?"

Shaking his head rather slowly "No." He said almost hopelessly "I'm never going to get married."

Swivelling around on the chair he was sitting on Sherlock stood up and moved over to his flatmate, placing a hand on his shoulder and guiding him out of the kitchen – which could most probably be considered a health hazard for a sober person, let alone and intoxicated one – "Why would you want to get married?"

"I don't know." John shrugged, looking dolefully up at Sherlock "I want to have somebody nice... you know to keep me company when I'm old."

Struggling to find something he could say, Sherlock sat John down on the sofa and plonked himself down in his arm chair "Well... um... you've got me... I suppose." He sounded like the insufferable best friend in a crap romance movie.

"I have..." John mused, looking up at the ceiling "hey, you know Sherlock, WE should get married." He nodded, a ridiculous grin on his face as he presented was to him seemed to be the best idea since the steam engine.

"Should we?" Sherlock asked smiling in amusement; he quite liked drunk-John.

John nodded rigorously, then realising that it hurt so he stopped "But like, you're never going to get married... everybody thinks you're a freak. And I'm never gonna get married because I can't even keep a relationship going for more than... three months because of you. So we should just do it."

"Appreciate the honesty there John." He added sarcastically, but still grinning at his flatmate.

"Sherlock Holmes, will you marry me?" it wasn't exactly the best proposal in the world, he didn't get down on one knee, didn't produce a ring, in fact he only bowed his head a little, glancing up every two seconds to see if Sherlock had responded.

Sherlock could barely contain his laughter, which was unusual for him "No, John."

John gazed up at him, a look of heart breaking disappointment on his face "Why not?" he demanded.

"Because you're drunk, ask me tomorrow when you're sober and I'll think about it, yeah?" He got back up and reached over to help John get out of his coat.

"Why are you undressing me then if you won't marry me?" John asked as Sherlock discarded his coat once he had got the drunken man out of it. Sherlock ignored him, undoing the laces of his shoes and pulled them off his feet.

He got up and surveyed his flatmate, who yawned widely. Feeling almost sympathetic, he walked out the living room to John's bedroom, retrieving John's duvet from his bed and carrying it, bundled up, into the living room to find John asleep on the sofa. Grinning he flapped the duvet out a bit to make it flat and lowered it onto his sleeping friend, lifting his feet onto the duvet with the rest of his body.

John had done this multiple times for him. When he collapsed because he hadn't eaten or slept in days, or just when they got back from a case. Or when the woman had drugged him and he'd slept for several hours, John had somehow managed to get him back home.

He sat back down in his arm chair, pressing the tips of his fingers together and watching his flat mate sleep.

It was just too bad that he was already married to his work.


End file.
